Date: February 12, 542 since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
Mirza slowly stowed his cleaver behind his back. The dry clang of steel echoed through the hall, putting a final end to this confrontation. The Orc swept his gaze over the Central Nexus, pausing on each of the thirteen knights. His ritual scars had finally died out, leaving only dark marks on his bronze skin, but his presence still pressed down on those around him with its ancient mass.
"Remember this day," Mirza boomed, addressing not only Grak but also Kaedan and Iskon. "Today, you did not simply survive. You made the Temple of True Balance sing to your tune. The next time we meet on the expanses of the continent, I will not look at your insignias. I will look at your steel."
The Orc gave Grak a short nod — a gesture of recognition from equal to equal. Then he turned and headed for the southern passage. His surviving mercenaries, supporting a wounded Pillar in bone armor, silently followed their leader. None of the Order knights stirred to block their path. In this silent agreement lay more understanding than in any treaties: both sides had learned their lessons, and both sides were too exhausted to continue the pointless slaughter.
Grak Axe lowered his axe. The white haze of "Sundering Strike" dissipated, revealing the commander's hands, trembling from overexertion. The Harbinger took a deep breath, trying to stabilize his Vessel, which hummed with an excess of destabilized power.
"Lower your weapons," Grak commanded. His voice was hoarse, but the same unshakable authority resonated within it again. "The threat has passed. The Temple is falling asleep."
The Central Nexus was indeed changing. The blinding light of the Crystal transformed into a soft silvery shimmer, and the artificial constellations under the dome began to slowly fade. The anomalies that had tormented the five pyramids subsided, leaving behind only the cold silence of ancient ruins.
The knights of the seventh squad began to slowly gather at the center of the platform. It was a heavy sight. Liana and Elwin approached Kaedan and Iskon. Liana gently touched Kaedan's silver breastplate, across which thin cracks still ran.
"You... you have become different, Kaedan," she whispered, looking into his eyes, which still held a steely glint. "Your Armor... it now seems part of the mountain itself."
Kaedan did not answer. He looked at his hands, at his greaves, at Iskon, in whose pupils amber nebulae still swirled. The joy of finally achieving the Pillar rank was clouded by leaden fatigue and bitterness.
Grak Axe, meanwhile, walked through the hall. He paused at each body lying on the obsidian tiles. Seven knights of the Order of Order remained forever in this Temple. Seven Warriors, who had once laughed in the "Lonely Peak" smithy, had now become silent statues of flesh and steel.
"Bert, Olaf..." Grak stopped at the bodies of two from his group who hadn't survived the last wave of pressure. "You fulfilled your duty to the end. Order will remember your names."
The commander turned to the thirteen survivors. There was no triumph in his gaze — only sorrow, heavy as northern granite. "We obtained what we came for," Grak looked at Iskon. "But the price was higher than I anticipated. The Seventh Squad lost seven brothers. We passed through a Place of Power, we witnessed the awakening of the Shadow of Balance, but that does not make our loss any easier."
Elwin lowered his head; his Spirit, "Tenacious Memory," forever fixed the faces of his fallen friends. He knew that until the end of his life, he would remember every second of their death, every last breath.
Kaedan clenched his fist. The inner essence within his Vessel pulsed slowly and heavily. He remembered his oath to protect. He had become a Pillar, he had completed his Armor, but he couldn't save everyone. This lesson from the Temple was the most painful: power does not grant mastery over death; it only grants the right to choose what you are willing to die for.
"Gather the fallen," Grak said quietly. "We will not leave them in this dust. They will return to the North. With honors."
The knights began preparing stretchers. In the Central Nexus of the Temple of True Balance, a silence of mourning settled. The journey back promised to be long, and in every step of that path now echoed the loss of seven lives cut short and the birth of two new Pillars who would have to lead the Order into the coming storm.